This is Bullshit!

This is Bullshit! is a collection of delusional thoughts, bipolar rants, self loathing poetry, and whatever other bullshit that I tend find interesting. *Note - the content herein is copyright protected under the applicable laws of the applicable jurisdictions. All work that is not my own has been properly credited where possible. The content maybe offensive to children under 21 who lack brains and "adults" over 30 who lack souls. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.*
the caption of this photo should read: “one of these men is on cocaine, can you figure out which one?…no? didnt think so…because its a TRICK QUESTION - ALL THESE GUYS ARE HIGH ON COKE!”
man oh man the late 80s mets - straw and doc esp, fucking junkies - NOT BULLSHIT!

siphotos:

Mike Tyson throws a mock jab at Dwight Gooden as Darryl Strawberry looks on. The three joked around before a Sept. 1986 game at Shea Stadium between the Mets and Expos. (AP)
GALLERY: Remembering the 1986 World Series

the caption of this photo should read: “one of these men is on cocaine, can you figure out which one?…no? didnt think so…because its a TRICK QUESTION - ALL THESE GUYS ARE HIGH ON COKE!”

man oh man the late 80s mets - straw and doc esp, fucking junkies - NOT BULLSHIT!

siphotos:

Mike Tyson throws a mock jab at Dwight Gooden as Darryl Strawberry looks on. The three joked around before a Sept. 1986 game at Shea Stadium between the Mets and Expos. (AP)

GALLERY: Remembering the 1986 World Series

fuck the title

i never understood the idea of “work hard, fly right”, never seemed to make much sense to me. in the end, the bloodsuckers are gonna take it all from you one way or the other. it all goes back to fuel the war machine. well fuck the war machine, because this is one american patriot who isn’t gonna fly hard or work right, so they can just shove it up their asses, their ideals and their jobs and their rights and wrongs, their laws and their materialistic bullshit. fuck it all man, fuck it all

sanity and sainthood

this is just a free write i did today…while watching wild things…

…………………………………………………………….

This is the first time I do heroin

This is also the last

Hand written suicide notes

A blast from the past

There’s just no other way the man shouted from the ledge

He had stopped believing in his self prescribe methodology of sanity

He had stopped believing he was destine for sainthood

He had begun to believe that the only way to out was thru flight

He had begun to believe that the wings he had envision would deliver the freedom he had chased

Im surrounded by uncreative jackasses and renee’s

This isn’t working, the thinking is getting in the way

There is too much for one man to process

There is no such thing as progress

We have not grown as a society, we have only adapted to the changes in technology

We are slaves to machines, in the smallest and the purest forms

Im going home, I won’t have the same fate as you and the bean

Let the bean go its way and I will go mine, one step in front of the other

One foot by one foot, the walls have closed in

I must stand to sleep but sleep does not come so I stand 25 hours a day

18% of what you have is real 18%  of what you hear is truth

Personally defined truth but truth none the less

You can change your face but you can’t change your fate

You can change your name but you can’t your course

The regime must change but you can’t change the regime

Only the regime can change itself

Argo the regime can’t change

Ive lost focus, I’ve lost direction

This maybe the last love letter I write, I wonder if they will remember me

If so, for how long – A day? A year? A lifetime?

Doubtful that it would even be that long

….pause…breath…think…readdress…accept failure as success…

The lights have gone dim in the house and the performance is underway

A woman from above sits in her box and allows her fingers to move along with the performance

As if she is in control of it, pulling the strings and hitting the high notes

Automatically updating the sounds as they move, so that they are perfect

The players don’t know the truth, they don’t know what you’ve been feeding them

Its real beef! He swore up and down the cobblestone block behind the joint he’d called home for so long

3 years in a place is a long time and he still hadn’t mastered the language, it was still raw, from the streets, like his soul.

Blacken and spiced from all the dings and the shots, only he had tasted the blood, only he knew the way the dress fell, the way the draping was off and improper

She told him to just let it go, to cleanse his soul, to believe

But that was long ago and she was no longer around, she had gone after her dreams and she had found them

But in chasing her dreams she had left him and in turn crushed his but how could he tell her that, how could he have not told her that so many years ago

He should have just gone and gotten her or gone and supported her

But he stayed here, occasionally giving thought to the idea of going after her but those thoughts disappeared, intertwined with the smoke he blew from his lungs and through his nose, up to the heavens, a gift of scent and dreams, back to the gods that had given them both him

He wondered if this made him an Indian giver, or if you could even use the word Indian anymore

Was braves better? Red skinned whisky drinking raping scalp collectors?

Where is this going? Where is the performance he asked?

A man was cleaning up, removing the left over playbills and bottles of booze, a man who’d been attached to the theatre since he was 14, a man that was always seen, a man our hero had given a nod and smile to, occasionally a hand shake when he had seen him.

Without picking up his head, the well aged and wisdom filled man spoke in a tone that was deafening but as soft as any asian microfiber

“its over, my dear friend…the performance is over. You fell asleep and your curious female partner left after the 2nd act.  I figured you’d be awake around this time, figured you may have needed the sleep, you look like a man whose been awake for too many hours without sleep.  Not healthy to not sleep. If you’d like some wine, there is a bottle in the back, in my room…I’ll join you when I’m done here, go and enjoy yourself now.”

He looked at this man who had not picked up his head and had continued to sweep as if god himself had spoken. 

For no reason, he found himself getting up and walking into the back, seeking another glass of his favorite form of wisdom

He parted the aged red curtain, frayed at the bottom from sweeping across that wonderful stage for so many years

He parted the curtain and behind it he found something other than what the man had promised

Something the man thought was ugly but something that did not cause him to run, something the man had to ponder before he could make a decision

The man stood frozen in place until the old janitor joined him at his side, the two men stood next to each other, peering into the abyss that lay behind the curtain

“I know its ugly but this is what you want and this is what we need…you really have no choice anyhow, the decision has been made…”

The man looked at the janitor and began to move forward and again looked at the janitor, who slowly nodded as if to say “yes, yes, on you go lad” and without any real clue as to where the next would take him or what would lay waiting in the darkness, the man stepped off the edge and down he went and as he fell, the man felt the freest he had ever felt, as if nothing mattered anymore, as if the pain had all been erased, as if the falling towards whatever it was that he was headed towards had cleansed him of the weight held him back, the mushroom anchor that was his pain was gone

 

c86:

Michael Grater - Paper Faces, 1968

via Toys and Techniques

it being ‘68, these kids mitta been getting dosed w/ lsd 25 at their age…lucky bastards

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul’s verses to bestow.

I’m a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the mountains I am one.

—Jose Marti

i have more dough than you but am i happier than you, nope

—the streets

always has always will, remember seeing the dude naked at some party in the hills back in the day
kirillwashere:

mickey avalon scares meclick image for more photos

always has always will, remember seeing the dude naked at some party in the hills back in the day

kirillwashere:

mickey avalon scares me
click image for more photos